


Doctor John H. Watson and W.S.S. Holmes’ Study on Intimacy and Affection and its Affects on its Participants

by devilssnare



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, M/M, Mary's gone, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Season/Series 03, Science, Virgin!Sherlock, mary? puts on sunglasses. i don't know her, not explict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilssnare/pseuds/devilssnare
Summary: Doctor John H. Watson and W.S.S. Holmes’ Study on Intimacy and Affection and its Affects on its Participants(Or how John came to realise that Sherlock needs more love and Sherlock came to realise that John was willing to give it to him)Purpose:That the two numptys (Subject A and B) would pull their heads out of theirs arses and get on with it already.





	Doctor John H. Watson and W.S.S. Holmes’ Study on Intimacy and Affection and its Affects on its Participants

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd and written in a hour. Suck it (or actually, tell me if there are errors and validate my need for attention)

Doctor John H. Watson and W.S.S. Holmes’ Study on Intimacy and Affection and its Affects on its Participants 

(Or how John came to realise that Sherlock needs more love and Sherlock came to realise that John was willing to give it to him)

 

 

 **Purpose:** _That the two numptys (Subject A and B) would pull their heads out of theirs arses and get on with it already._

Sherlock and him had always been close, John wasn’t denying that. There was a reason that many believed (or more hoped) that they were together and their easy friendship, living situation and lack of significant others made those presumptions understandable. 

But they weren’t together. It wasn’t from a lack of interest or even a lack of love; both men loved each other dearly, each in their own strange and unorthodox way. 

It was a lack of communication, a complete inept and childish reason on why the two shouldn’t be happy, and, despite the one having a MD and the other being a Savant genius, the two ponces couldn’t have one conversation about feelings without becoming two great big emotionally stunted, too-British idiots. 

So, after John’s wife buggered off back to wherever the hell she was from, fake baby, real name, shady past and all, he moved back in to 221B, tail between his legs, welcomed back with a glance up from his microscope and a half-hearted ‘we need milk’ from his old (and new) flatmate. 

It didn’t take the men long to get back into their groove, both men able to move and live around each other like it was a second nature, but both felt a different vibe than before. 

Maybe it was echo of Mary’s parting words or just the feeling of a second chance, both men sunk into each other more, John leaning into Sherlock further when he looked over the taller man’s shoulder at his experiment or Sherlock pulling John’s chair closer to his during their post case write-up and relaxation. 

They didn’t speak about it, John having heard Sherlock’s rant about his distain for romantic attachments enough for him to believe there was no hope. Even if it wasn’t romantic, John was happy just to be by Sherlock’s side for the rest of his life. 

Of course, all of this came to a head when a small child, the only viable witness to a pretty gruesome homicide, sneezed on Sherlock and left him sick with the stomach flu. 

“John, I’m dying,” Sherlock moaned from the bathroom door. 

John rolled his eyes from where he was getting the sick man a glass of water from the kitchen. 

“You are not dying, you have a stomach virus.” 

He heard a retch and then the _plop_ of the toilet water as Sherlock coughed. 

“One can die from dehydration cause from severe and excessive vomiting.” 

The doctor crouched beside the sick man, placing the water next to the basin and ran his hands through his patient’s sweaty curls. 

“If you can tell me that, you are definitely not dying.” 

He offered the anti-nausea tablets from his pocket to Sherlock, the other man refusing until John all but forced them down his throat. Sherlock grumbled and took them, resting his hot forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet. 

“Is there anything I can do?” John asked, running his fingers across the sweaty back of Sherlock’s neck in a soothing gesture. 

“Kill me.”

John laughed. 

“Anything else?” 

“Help me to bed?” 

John helped Sherlock to bed, laying him on his side facing the door, a bucket beside him, just in case. 

Sherlock threw up just as John was placing a thin sheet over him, and stopped to rub calming circles on the sick man’s back. 

“Shh,” John cooed. “It’s okay.” 

After Sherlock spat the last of the taste out of his mouth, John left and returned with a dampened flannel and placed it over Sherlock’s brow.

“No,” Sherlock protested, weakly. “I’m cold.” 

John put the flannel on Sherlock anyway, his patient too exhausted to put up a fight. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on Sherlock’s forehead, keeping the flannel there and the other rubbing soothing patterns on his neck as he checked his pulse. 

“Try to sleep.” John whispered, moving his hand down to Sherlock’s bicep, continuing his calming circles there. 

Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible. 

“Goodnight Sherlock.” 

John removed both of his hands and stood up, fixing the sheet around his friend and turned off the light, and turn to check on Sherlock once more. 

“’Night John,” Sherlock mumbled, his voice slurred by his sleepiness. “’Loveyou.”

John closed the door and went upstairs to his own room and didn’t sleep for a single minute. 

 

 **Hypothesis:** _I believe that Subject A (S.H.) will react well to intimacy if it were exhibited and advanced by Subject B (J.W.)_

That morning when Sherlock woke up, John was in his chair, a plan firmly stuck in his head and he was ready. 

When Sherlock entered the living room, looking pale and dishevelled but very much better, John stood up and walked over to his best friend. 

“Morning John, is there any tea?” 

“Feeling better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” John took a deep breath. “Sherlock, I- _we_ \- have been putting this off for years and I’m done.” 

Sherlock just blinked. 

John, not at all encouraged by Sherlock’s response, pressed on and placed a small peck on Sherlock’s lips, finding them flaking and cracked. 

He gauged Sherlock’s reaction, finding his expression unchanged. 

“Well?” He asked. 

“John,” Sherlock started, his voice hoarse and John had the sinking feeling he was going to be rejected. “I have thought of this moment for years.” 

Well, that bought John’s attention and determination back. 

“But never once in my millions of fantasies have I had vomit and morning breath.” He flushed. “So, if you will give me a minute and I’ll-“ he nodded to the bathroom. “Be right back.”

He stared at John and raised both hands. 

“Don’t move. Stay right there.”

Three minutes passed and Sherlock left the bathroom, teeth brushed and smiling and walked back to John who had followed his commands and not moved an inch. 

“Right,” Sherlock said, clicking his fingers in a rare show of nervousness. “Where were we?”

“We were-“

“Kissing!” Sherlock interrupted. 

“Yes, we were.” John grinned, a fond feeling filling his chest. 

“Great,” Sherlock said, flapping his hands awkwardly towards his person. “Hit me with it then.” 

John bit his lip, his cheeks hurting with the velocity of his smile. 

He took Sherlock’s, frankly ridiculous, cheekbones between his hands and placed several quick pecks to Sherlock’s lips before settling down with a long, deep kiss, feeling the other man’s lips smile and puck up in an innocent attempt to reciprocate. 

The kiss ended and Sherlock leant his forehead against John’s, his height causing him to tower over the shorter man. John didn’t mind and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose, enjoying what John called Sherlock’s ‘vee’ smile. 

Sherlock’s hand settled around John’s waist and the two swayed in their living room until Sherlock’s empty stomach protested and the two shared a simple breakfast of toast between them, their seats much closer than usual, sharing small, secret smiles with each bite. 

**Procedure:** _Subject B (J.W.) will shower Subject A (S.H.) with enough love and affection that he, Subject A (S.H.) will allow._

They weren’t the most affectionate of couples and unless you knew them, you wouldn’t believe that the two had finally moved from friends to lovers. 

There wasn’t a stark difference between the exchanges between them. A small, meaningful smile here and there, more dinners out, and the occasional clasped hands or the even more rare quick kisses. 

The most they had done was share a bed, completely innocent and John was content for this to be it. He was older than he once was and while he still enjoyed sex and physical intimacy, he didn’t experience the drumming need for it anymore. 

Still, John Watson _was_ a physical man by nature, so he touched Sherlock more, harmlessly of course, and Sherlock soaked it up, always leaning into John’s hands when they ran through his hair and blushing whenever John touched his face tenderly. 

Sherlock never initiated any of the touches but he didn’t refuse any. 

John was happy to stay at this speed and so was Sherlock, so that was where they stayed until that one case. 

John could honestly thank any children that they had come across as the reasons for his and Sherlock’s relationship progressing. 

They were working on a kidnapping case. Two children, £50,000 ransom, seventy-two hours. 

Even after solving the case, solving the puzzle and finding the children and the assailant, Sherlock was a few hours too late. One was dead and the other in critical condition, the abductor unconscious from John’s fist and Sherlock miserable. 

Sherlock always took cases involving children hard, especially when he couldn’t save them, so John let him be, allowing Sherlock to lock himself away in the shower, away from John. 

After ten minutes, John gave in, needing to make sure Sherlock was okay and needing assurance himself, as he was the one who found and tried resuscitate the kids. 

He sat on the edge of the bath, closing his eyes and breathing in the hot steam. 

“Are you okay?”

“I couldn’t save them.” 

John sighed and peaked his eyes open to find Sherlock with his knees up against his chest, his wet head resting on his knees, his body one complete slump. 

“You can’t expect to solve every case.” 

“He was six, John.” Sherlock said into his kneecaps. “What were you doing when you were six?” 

John sighed, and stood up, pulling his jumper and undershirt over his head and kicking his trousers off. 

He climbed into the bath, tucking his feet between Sherlock calves and the edge of the bath. 

The spray of water was a touch too warm for him and that explained Sherlock’s very pink skin. 

He touched Sherlock’s hands where they were interlaced in his hair, gaining his attention. 

“You can’t blame yourself.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the spray soaking John’s boxer briefs wet, turning them a darker grey and causing them to cling to his skin. 

“It’s easier with murders,” Sherlock said, interrupting John from peeling his underwear away from his crotch to make himself more comfortable. 

“What is?” 

“Distancing myself. With murders, they are already dead and all I can do for them is solve it.” He took a shuddering breath. “But when they’re alive…I have a chance to help them, save them.” He took another wet breath, sounding on the verge of sobbing. “And when they’re children, who have done nothing wrong, their only crimes their parentage and their innocence. What’s the point? I don’t get the rush, the giddiness of a case, all I feel is empty.” 

John’s heart was sinking at his partner’s breaking voice. He ran his hands through his now-wet hair.

“I use to feel that way during the war.” He moved his foot closer to him, causing a squeaking noise that echoed in the otherwise silent bathroom. “How pointless it was to sew up and heal injured soldiers just to have them go back out into battle and get shot all over again. What was the point?” 

He wiggled his way closer to Sherlock, feeling out for the man.

“What was the point of saving them if they were just going to get hurt again?” 

“What was the point?” Sherlock asked.

John shrugged.

“There wasn’t one. Not one I found, at least. But, it was my job and even though it was horrible, I loved it. If you minus all the death and destruction, I loved the chaos and the adrenaline of war, just as I know you love the danger and excitement of your work. We take the bad with the good. It’s the realities of life.” 

Sherlock sniffed. 

“Thank you, John. I feel like you’re the only one who sees Sherlock and not just Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Detective.” 

John smiled and tried to wiggle closer, his shins touching Sherlock’s crossed calves. 

“Despite what many think, including yourself, mind,” John said, nudging him slightly. “You are more than your brilliant, beautiful mind and you are not a emotionless machine. You care and that was makes you such a great detective.”

“I love you.” 

John’s heart and lungs stopped. 

“I didn’t want the first time I said it to be this depressing, nor did I actually want to say it first, mind you.” Sherlock said, sounding like his old condescending self. 

John chocked out a laugh.

“But, I do love you and I know that-why are your eyes closed?” 

“Oh,” John said, crossing his hands over his lap, embarrassed. “I haven’t seen you naked before and I didn’t want to until you were ready and it seemed insensitive to ask you while you were upset but you need comforting and-“

“John,” Sherlock said, (thankfully) interrupting John’s rambling, sounding very amused. “When have I ever been shy about nudity? Do you not remember Buckingham Palace?”

John did remember Buckingham Palace and Sherlock’s infamous bed sheet. It was hard not too when the sight of Sherlock’s bare back fuelled his dirty dreams for months. 

Also, the gratification and hysteria both he and Sherlock felt whenever a client (or Mycroft) used the crystal (and stolen) ashtray. 

“I know,” John huffed, feeling quite silly. “But that was before you and I- you know.” 

“Ah, so you felt that since we become an ‘item.’” John could feel the quotation marks and Sherlock’s rolling eyes. “That my nudity has become much more significant.” 

John nodded, feeling more ridiculous the more he thought about his reasoning. 

“John, look at me.”

John shook his head; his eyes still squeezed shut, although not for Sherlock’s modesty and more to hide his shame. 

“John,” Sherlock took John’s face in his hands. “Look at me.” 

And John did and was met with the gorgeous sight of one wet Sherlock, his iridescent eyes shining and covered with wet, spiked eyelashes, his mouth red from the heated watered and his curls plastered down to his scalp. 

John had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Oh, my silly little doctor,” he said. Sherlock had often used this phrase when John was being particular slow, his tone condescending but now he sounded fond and affectionate and John’s cheeks heated. “I love you, but you really are an idiot.”

John took the insult with a grain of salt, loving that Sherlock was so vocal with his declarations of love.

“I never asked for us to be so chaste. I appreciate the fact that you took my…inexperience into account but,” Sherlock pulled John’s face closer to his. “While I am inexperienced with the physical side of things, I am more than versed in the theory.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of John’s mouth.

“I just didn’t want to rush anything.” John said into the Sherlock’s mouth. “We spent so long getting here, I didn’t want to mess it up by-“

“John, John.” Sherlock said, pulling him from his tirade. “It’s okay.” He pressed another small kiss to John’s lips and moved his hands to interlace behind John’s neck. “While I am not ready to go all the way-“

“I’m not asking you too.” 

Sherlock glared at him and he shut up.

“While I’m not prepared to go all the way and while I feel quite ridiculous as there is no valid excuse for me to be nervous about something as inconsequential as my virginity, I am. But, I am prepared to do everything else.” He focused on John’s earlobe where he was fondling it. “I’m not good at intimacy, whether it be giving or receiving it and I never thought I would feel this way with another person, but I do and only for you and I like the closeness we have and-“

“And what?” John asked quietly, noting Sherlock’s hushed and shy look, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s wrist. 

“And I like it when you touch me, even if it’s not sexual.” 

John smiled and made up his mind. 

He stood up and Sherlock looked at him questionably. 

“Come on,” John said, offering his hands. 

Sherlock looked him up and down, before settling on the interest between John’s legs, raising a brow. 

“Sorry,” John said, bending his knees in no way to hide his interest. “Just seeing you does things.”

“But I haven’t even touched you,” Sherlock said incredulously, taking John hands and heaving himself up. 

John looked at Sherlock and yes; the sight of one wet Sherlock Holmes was a sight to behold. 

“There’s more to sex than touching. Come on.” 

Sherlock allowed himself to be led by John into a towel and into his (now their) bedroom and sat down when John told him to. 

John went through the drawers and pulled out a pair of pyjamas for both of them and walked back over to Sherlock. 

“You want intimacy?” 

Sherlock nodded and John lightly touched the tie of Sherlock’s towel. He froze and John raised his hands. 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want.” John said, keeping his voice soft and his hands where Sherlock could see them. “I want to dress you, okay?” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, confused but nodded and John turned back to undo Sherlock’s towel once again.

“If you want me to stop, say so.” 

Sherlock nodded again and John peeled Sherlock’s towel off and started to wipe dry Sherlock’s legs. He moved onto his torso and shoulders, sharing a small, intimate smile with Sherlock when their faces came together. 

“Hello,” John sing-songed, and press a dry kiss to the end of Sherlock’s nose. 

John took Sherlock’s softest pyjama pants off the bed and sat by Sherlock’s feet. 

He passed each leg of the pants past Sherlock’s feet, kissing each sole once. Sherlock made a soft laughing sound at the feeling and John grinned, continuing his journey up Sherlock’s legs. 

He rolled the pants up his calves and thighs, his fingertips gently showing the way for the cotton and slipped them over Sherlock’s hips and under his bum. John politely ignored Sherlock’s…interested anatomy. 

He leaned on his hands over Sherlock, who had lain down while John was somewhere near his knees. 

“You okay?” 

Sherlock nodded and pulled John down by his shoulders and kissed him deep and with tongue, something that they had never done before. 

John pulled away and Sherlock up, grabbing the thin grey shirt next to them. 

He straddled Sherlock, Sherlock’s hands resting on his hipbones, and slipped Sherlock’s head through the t-shirt, kissing his forehead as soon as the shirt settled to hang around his neck, waiting. 

He leant back and helped Sherlock put his arms through the armholes, kissing his palm, wrist, inner elbow and shoulder on each arm as the long-sleeved shirt slowly covered them.

John stood up and quickly changed, peeling off his wet briefs and into a new pair and pyjama bottoms. 

Sherlock watched him, a warm glow overtaking his face. 

John sat back on the bed and leant against the headboard, beckoning Sherlock to him. 

Sherlock lent against him and John went about towel-drying Sherlock hair. 

He went gently and slowly, stopping every so often to play and twist a forming curl between his fingers, Sherlock humming at the attention. 

John stopped, pleased with his work, a relaxed and happy Sherlock between his legs and dropped the towel over the side of the bed.

In an hour, both of them would rouse. John would make tea and Sherlock would order dinner and both of them would settle into the sofa, slouched into one other and trace patterns into each other’s skin, and tell unheard stories from their pasts. 

They’ll share small smiles and kisses over madras beef and coconut chicken and never break contact. 

But, until then, they were content just to lie there together, their breathing and heartbeats in sync, their fingers interlaced. 

John pressed a kiss to the crown of Sherlock’s head and closed his eyes. 

**Results:** _Subject A (S.H.) and Subject B (J.W.) have finally passed the obstacle of introducing intimacy into their relationship and now Subject A (S.H.) is willing to accept and even initiate physical contact. Subject B (J.W.) is just happy that Subject A (S.H.) is happy, although he does quite enjoy kisses from Subject A (S.H.)_

Sherlock and John didn’t progress into actual sex until another case involving children, which sounds very wrong in John’s head. 

_The Kaden Kidnappings_ (or the case with the kidnapped children that caused Sherlock’s breakdown in the bath) had gone to court. It was very publicized and that always brought the threat of copycats, and this case was no exception. 

Only this time, the copycat abductor was slow and Sherlock was on his a-game, finding the missing children and the kidnapper in three hours, all children alive and well. 

With their return home, John was happy, but Sherlock was ecstatic, jumping up and down with glee. 

John turned to make tea, already planning a celebratory dinner at _Angelo’s_ when Sherlock’s arm wrapped around his waist, turning him around. 

“What-“ John started, but his throat closed up at Sherlock’s expression.

“I’m ready,” Sherlock smirked and starting unbuttoning John’s shirt. 

“Are-are you sure?” 

Sherlock fixed John a look and he conceded that was a stupid question. 

When Detective Inspector Lestrade came over to 221B to get both men’s statements and give them his congratulations of a case well solved, he was rudely told to bugger off by one Sherlock Holmes and a well-thrown leather brogue. 

The detective hesitated in the hallway, expecting foul play but understood his need to leave when a high-pitched whimper came from behind the (now) closed door. 

He left, but not before sharing a conspiring grin with landlady of 221 Baker Street. He gave her his lost 50 quid, seeing it as a reasonable price to pay for the happiness of his two friends. 

There was a loud thump from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of bedsprings and the detective hightailed it out there while the landlady smiled up at the ceiling and left to have lunch at the café next door. 

 

 **Conclusion:** _Subject A (S.H.) was loved. Subject B (J.W) loved him._

Sherlock Holmes was loved by John Watson and John Watson was loved by Sherlock Holmes.

 

 **Aftermath of Experiment:** _Subject A (S.H.) needs to stop leaving his notebook about._

“Sherlock?” John called.

“Yeah?” Sherlock answered from the bathroom, where he was shaving.

“What is the _Doctor John H. Watson and W.S.S. Holmes’ Study on Intimacy and Affection and its Affects on its Participants_?” 

Before John had finished his question, Sherlock had run out of the bathroom, shaving foam still around his mouth and grabbed the notebook from John’s hands.

“It’s nothing,” he said, hiding it behind him. 

John, knowing that Sherlock was lying and having already read the experiment analysis, just smiled and kissed Sherlock’s foamy mouth.

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you, too.” Sherlock said, taking the notebook back into the bathroom with him.

John watched him go, chuckling to himself. Knowing he was (successfully) manipulated into making the first move, John just smiled, not minding one bit. 

_His mad genius._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, but I wrote this because I just want them to be happy


End file.
